


the ghost between us.

by Xorxos Brook (cdra)



Category: Pandora Hearts
Genre: Angst, F/M, Multi, xerxes break is fucking dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-17
Updated: 2015-08-17
Packaged: 2018-08-28 20:02:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8461114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cdra/pseuds/Xorxos%20Brook
Summary: He has always been the space between them.  When they were children sleeping on his either arm, when they were young adults seeking some place in the world at his side, and even now as they are fully grown and he is years long dead and gone—Xerxes is still the space in between them.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this fucking forever ago and never published it. It still hurts me. Xerxes hurts me.
> 
> I don't think the writing on this is my best, but I'm here to share things regardless I guess. Definitely some headcanons shenanigans going on here that I don't even remember well enough to explain? Reincarnation cycle shenanigans and stuff. Mostly just sads. Enjoy.

He has always been the space between them.  When they were children sleeping on his either arm, when they were young adults seeking some place in the world at his side, and even now as they are fully grown and he is years long dead and gone—Xerxes is still the space in between them.

He is the ghost in their bedsheets, silent and invisible but always _there_ , always just barely tangible to some nervous system that doesn’t quite reach the skin; heal as wounds might, the scars on them both are deep, and even as they grow more faint they are not to be forgotten.  Neither of them would choose to forget him, either; perhaps, then, he is also the glue that holds them together.

They refuse to speak of him, but Reim can see the sad look his fiance casts into the pews at the rehearsal; she wishes _he_ was there, and he does too; he wishes that fool of an old man could have seen Sharon grown and beautiful as she is, and then he remembers, with an amused note, that Xerxes was blind anyway, so perhaps it wouldn’t have made a difference.

“He would say you look beautiful,” he blurts out, despite himself, and for a moment she looks surprised—and then she gives a soft smile, a soft agreement, and they silently agree not to continue.

In their separate beds they sleep restlessly; she turns and hugs into herself, feeling somehow cold from both the anticipation of being married so soon and the lingering ghost of the man she knows she loved.  Far away, he stares at a blurry ceiling, trying his best to empty his mind of worries and wonderings but managing only to remember the sad smiles of his beloved betrothed and that idiot he surely loved as well.

They are standing at the altar, hearts pounding, vows barely complete—for her, space seems to be warped, a certain unreality she couldn’t have even dreamed of about the entirety of it—for him, time is passing at a crawl, and yet he cannot seem to remember any of the words that are said for how long the spaces between them seem.  They cannot see the faces of the crowd or of the man speaking their rites; they can only see each other and how the other smiles, adoring, nostalgic, and still somehow echoing with loss.

And then they hear someone walking up the isle, familiar clicking footsteps, and with hands still clasped they simultaneously turn to see _him_.

“A nice little ceremony you have, here~  Quaint, but elegant.” his voice is the same as it’s been for twenty years, frozen in youth and then in their memories, light and carelessly amused, as though the implications of his presence are entirely lost on him—but it’s Reim who notices first how very weak and melancholic the smile on Xerxes’s face is.

“Nice of you to show up,” he quips as though there’s nothing strange about a dead man waltzing into your wedding ceremony; indeed, time seems to have halted except for around the three of them, and Sharon’s grip on his fingers grows tighter as her eyes grow wider and he grasps her hands back, hoping to keep her from crying.

“How could I not make an appearance at my two favorite people's wedding~?” Xerxes gives one of his false grins as he speaks, hiding himself away as always as his approach slows to a stop and he’s almost as close to each of them as they are to each other and Sharon catches herself thinking that that’s how it _should_ be.

Xerxes looks at her knowingly and she can’t bring herself to speak still, for all the words she’d like to say are still caught in her throat, hanging in the air over his grave, lost in a flood of tears over his body.  His fingers settle like brittle glass on her shoulders and he all but whispers, “My, you’ve grown beautiful... so this is the strong woman I couldn’t see.”

Reim smiles, a bit proud, though his heart feels weighed down for it—indeed, it’s a heavy smile, but not a misplaced one.  Xerxes lets his hands slide down from Sharon’s shoulders and slowly turns to Reim with a quirky grin— "Take care of her, won’t you?  I wouldn’t trust anyone else in the world with her, you know.”

A nod— ”Of course I will.”   _Of course—_ he’d always wanted nothing more than to shoulder the weight of that trust, no matter how many assurances like that it would take; even though it should be too late for such a thing, he’ll bear it with pride now.

Sharon looks up at him (he’s shorter than he used to seem, though, not nearly big-brother figure he was so long ago) and Xerxes looks down into the space between him and her as he tucks a lock of hair behind her ear—there are so many things she wants to say, so many things she couldn’t tell him, but she can’t find them now for the beating of her heart in her head and the tightness of her chest as she places her hand over his.  He almost looks into her eyes (that way he does when he’s _really_ looking; it’s still so familiar) and whispers, “And you be sure _he_ doesn’t work himself into oblivion.  You know how he gets sometimes; my old heart can’t take worrying about the both of you.”

She smiles, finally, and she giggles, releasing the knot of emotions she’s been wrestling with; a tear, then two, slip from closed eyes as she breathes, “Of course,” and Xerxes smiles too as he slips from her grasp (so easily, like he hadn’t been there at all, because of course he hadn’t; when had he ever truly been within her grasp?).  He reaches to put a hand on Reim’s shoulder, but hesitates; ghostly pale fingers merely clench together and he stares at them for a moment in silence.

“I’m happy for you,” he manages, obviously straining to say such straightforward words, “For both of you.  I never wanted to see you so lonely—I never wanted to be the reason you hurt like that.”  Ah, but it had to be so, it was decided from the beginning—he was always a person who hurt what he loved, so even his death should have done exactly that.  “You’ll be fine without me—you have each other, after all.  But...”

“But?”  Reim asks, and his grip on Sharon’s waist instinctively tightens; she merely tilts her head in inquisition.

“But what?”  She asks as Xerxes begins to laugh (it’s that same laugh as the night when he called himself useless before her; it’s the laugh that admitted his weakness once) and covers his eye with his wrist (usually he only hides his mouth; they both know why he would chose to hide his eyes instead).

“I still want to be here,” he whispers in a tone on the edge of falling apart, “With you.  Even now—I...”  He pauses, takes a breath (funny, how he does that when he doesn’t breathe anymore at all).

“I love you.”  He’s never been able to say those words before, not once, and it almost breaks something in him to say it now—but how long has he been alone with his sentiments, steeling himself for some impossible opportunity to share them?  In that single phrase are so many things he left unsaid in that hollow courtroom, so many thoughts he hadn’t allowed himself then, and all three of them can feel that weight clearly.

It’s Sharon, though, who breaks the silence; “I love you too,” said without hesitation; she’s been holding those words for so long that she hardly knows what to do with them now that they’re free (but to say such a thing with Reim there, she wishes she could regret it), “For such a long time, I’ve—”

Reim squeezes her hand and she freezes, but he looks to her as he says “Me, too," and adds, a bit more softly, “It’s okay—I already knew.”  Her eyes turn a bit wide as her fiance looks back to the man hiding his upturned gaze.  “You, too.  It’s just...” (just that he didn’t know how to say it; neither of them did, except in words like “of course” and “thank you”).

Xerxes laughs again, pulling his sleeve from his face (there are dark, damp patches on the white fabric, but they’ll all pretend that they didn’t see); his smile is faint as he resumes his composure, loose and careless (and yet, even that seems a bit heavy).  “I understand.  As I said, I want you to be happy more than anything.  But,” he shrugs, offering a small flourish of his wrist, “If there is still a place for me, here, I would like to stay with you.”

Reim laughs now, and Sharon follows (though hers is silent, merely a few shrugs of slim shoulders and a raising of her hand to her mouth); “Idiot.  Of course there is.  Right?”  He looks at his fiance; his gaze is filled with love for them both.

She nods and returns his gaze with every bit the intensity, her heart finally rising just a bit; “Right—right here.”  Her hand lights on her chest, but her eyes remain on the space between her and Reim for a moment before the couple look at their ghost once more.

“Then I suppose I should take my leave.  Can’t go ruining your lives all over again, now can I~?” he hums, his ordinary demeanor returned in full—but the tension in the air has faded, even as the scene begins to fade away.  Xerxes turns on his heel, manages a few steps back down the aisle before Reim’s voice catches him.

“Say hi to Lady Shelly, will you?  And Master Rufus too, if you can stand to.”

He glances over his blind shoulder and gives a chuckle.  “I’ll see to it.”

“Take care,” Sharon calls, unsure of what else she could say; “It’d be okay to visit sometimes, too.”

To that, he merely hums in affirmation and amusement—and then his footfalls resume, only to dissipate into nothingness.

They wake in their separate beds feeling light, rested like they haven’t been in years—Reim puts on his glasses to see his cane on the shelf, resting peacefully as ever, and Sharon swears that his doll is smiling more widely than usual.


End file.
